Hair of the Dog
by Coconutswallow
Summary: A powerful new gang combined with already formidable enemies form a web of chaos that only the Lackadaisy gang could find itself caught up in.
1. Balled Up

Disclaimer: The intellectual property of Lackadaisy, and all the awesomeness there residing, belongs to Tracy. I own none of it.

A/N: This started with me just scrawling some interactions between Lackadaisy's characters and then a plot started developing.

**Hair of the Dog**

The cavern's cool air felt good as it brushed by Zib's skin, his cigarette smoke shifting in the light of the adjacent tunnel. He laid his head back on the rock wall as he listened to the burble of the nearby underground stream. The caves beneath Lackadaisy were not all fully developed; coming off of the main tunnel they used for transporting and storing liquor were unexplored tunnels. The tunnel he was in now was one of those that Zib had discovered years back. It was one of his favorite places to relax after a long night of playing to an empty crowd- the only crowd his band played to anymore. Tonight the audience was the normal- a smattering of the few loyal patrons Lackadaisy had left, most of them content to lay strewn across their tables ossified. They probably didn't even hear the music.

Zib took another drag from his cigarette and closed his eyes. The night wasn't over and he soon would have to head back up and make his living, but until then, he was content to sit here and enjoy his solitude.

"Are you sure these shoes don't go with this dress? They seemed the perfect match in the store."

Zib's eyes sprang open. The voice had echoed from further down the tunnel.

"Are you still thinking about that? Plainly put, they are a horrible color match. Thank goodness its dark, that shade of cream alongside the dark blue was becoming a pain to the eyes."

He stared into the recesses of the tunnel. The light from the main cavern's lamp just barely reached his sitting spot, leaving his eyes to meet a wall of pitch black.

"Are you razzing me? That cream was _meant_ for this shade of blue. You must not pay any attention to the latest fashions."

The cigarette he was smoking was a normal one as far as Zib knew. He pulled out the pack and looked it over. Unfortunately it was a regular brand, making the explanation for the voices harder to rationalize.

"Ulch, no I have not and I never intend to. One does not need to keep up with societal trends to realize what is presentable or not."

There was nothing for it but to investigate. If he was hearing voices discuss fashion he wanted to be sure they were outside his head, hallucinogens aside. The jazz player stood up, steeled himself, and began cautiously edging into the darkness.

"What are you talking about? Of course it's necessary! Do you want to look like a rube?"

As Zib got closer to the voices they started sounding familiar, familiar in a way that didn't help his confidence in his sanity. He sighed. As much as he wished to, there was no turning back now.

"I'll have you know that my suits have never looked out of place. I take good care of my appearance… _Why_ am I discussing this?"

Zib quickly ran out of light and had to strike a match to see. As the darkness peeled away around him he saw that a scant few feet before him was a sheer drop off.

"Hey, hey, over here!"

He approached it slowly and peered over it. The match had just enough light to make a faint outline of the bottom of the pit. There was a burbling stream forming a small pool that filled about half of the pit's space. The other half contained a line of stalagmites and a small, clear section of stone. On that stone were two figures staring up at him.

"Miss Pepper? Mr. Heller?" Zib's cigarette hung loosely in his mouth as he gaped at them.

Ivy cocked her head to the side. "Zib? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"It's a loooong story," Ivy sighed. "Could you find us a way out of here?"

It took a few seconds for Zib's brain to get its gears greased. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'll be right back." He quickly headed to the main tunnel. He was tempted to just go straight back to the speakeasy and forget this encounter had ever happened but he couldn't just leave Atlas's goddaughter in the bottom of a pit. He ran through the corridors to the storage room. Inside it wasn't hard to find a lamp and a coil of rope. He grabbed them and headed back to the tunnel.

"This has definitely been one of my less dignified moments."

"Oh forget your dignity! Do you know what my dress has been through? I just got it yesterday!"

"In case you haven't noticed its pitch black so no, I don't. Not that I'd c-"

"Ok, I've got rope!" Zib yelled down to them. He uncoiled it and threw it down the cliff. He heard an exasperated sigh.

"You will have to show me where the rope is… Unhand me! I just need simple direction, I'm not a child."

The rope went taut and Zib braced himself against the nearby rocks as the two climbed up. Soon the full figures of Mordecai and Ivy stood before him, both of them seeming less for wear. Mordecai lacked his glasses and bore an uncharacteristically disheveled suit. Ivy's clothes were in a similar condition, flecks of mud covering her down to her shoes. She also had something slung across her shoulder…

"Is that a gun?" Zib raised an eyebrow at Ivy.

"Yep, it is." Ivy un-slung it and inspected it. "I hope it still works. It's been through a lot."

Zib sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably n-" Mordecai was abruptly cut off as a machine gun blast boomed through the corridor. From the light of the main tunnel a body fell to the ground, a pistol clattering to the floor beside it.

"Good shot, neg!"

Stepping slowly over the body was a figure in a trench coat with a chopper in its hands, smoke whisking from the barrel. A tall, black haired woman dressed in a suit walked up beside him, her large hoop earrings and BAR glinting in the light.

"Serafine!" Ivy cursed.

"Oh, if it isn't Pischouette." The woman strode up to the group casually, looking Ivy over. "You look predy bad. Did you have to get your hands dirty for once?" Serafine grinned widely.

The figure in the trench coat, which Zib quickly recognized as Freckle, followed close behind the dark-haired woman, his eyes blank. He barely glanced at the people around him, instead collapsing on the floor, his back against the wall.

"Calvin, are you ok?" Ivy gave him a worried look. Freckle nodded, letting his Thompson fall to the ground. Ivy looked back at the dark lady. "What did you do to him?"

"Notink. He looked lak he had a gran' time takin' out some hoods. I helped." Serafine lifted her gun and stared down the sights. "Right Boudreaux?"

"Is she talking to her gun?" Zib whispered to no-one in particular.

"She does that occasionally," Mordecai muttered. "It's rather ridiculous."

"You stay away from Calvin!" Ivy glowered at Serafine, readying her rifle in a way that made Zib uneasy.

"Oh, gettin' feisty, eh? You goin' to stop me?" The Cajun leveled her gun at Ivy.

Zib was contemplating either slipping away quietly or hurling himself into the pit beside him when his thoughts were interrupted.

"Which of course is why the police never found me," a voice echoed down the main tunnel, prompting Zib to roll his eyes. He figured the man behind that voice would be involved in this mess.

A deep laugh followed the statement. "Nice one. I lak de way you tink."

"Is that one of them?" a female voice asked. Zib groaned; that was a voice that _shouldn't_ be involved.

Appearing in the entrance of the small tunnel was Rocky, a stupid grin plastered across his face and alongside him a large, well-built man with dark, sandy hair. Bringing up the rear was, much to Zib's distress, Mitzi.

"Nico! How did it go?" Serafine turned to face them.

"Mais, it went well, dey got us in a rough spot but we got out." Nico winked at her.

"Zib!" Rocky exclaimed gleefully, waltzing up to the now thoroughly confused jazz player. "You have no idea what you've missed!"

Zib stared long and hard at the violinist. "… Apparently," he mumbled, slumping against the wall. Mitzi walked slowly up to the two, exchanging a tired glance with Zib before she joined him on the floor. Zib turned to her expecting some sort of explanation but instead getting a faraway look. Suddenly she sat up and looked over the group.

"Where's Wick?" she asked urgently.

"I dink he ended up wit' dat grand beede', de one wit' de odd name, uh what was it…" Nico gestured.

"Viktor!" yelled Rocky, his head facing the entrance of the now much too crowded tunnel. There stood the aforementioned Slovak, a chopper swung over his shoulder and a long streak of blood across his shirt. Behind him was a shuffling, tattered Wick, his eyes bearing a crazy glaze.

"Wick, what happened?" Mitzi immediately rose to meet the money man.

"I was… _it_ was… _we _were…" Wick trailed off.

"Wonderful. It's good to see we all survived the encounter," Mordecai said acidly.

"I wished some hadn't." Ivy stared daggers at Serafine.

"Don't get me started again Pischouette. I won't lose de next fight." The Cajun's eyes narrowed menacingly.

"If that lunatic had not shot up whole gang, ve wouldn't have problem." Viktor pointed at Freckle.

"Freckle was trying to protect me," Ivy defended. "Besides, things would have been jake if Rocky hadn't dragged in all that trouble." Ivy pointed at the corpse at the entrance of the tunnel.

Rocky smiled innocently. "Well it was with good intentions, I mean, I didn't know that they would…" Rocky shrugged his shoulders.

"Didn't know? You didn't know? For Pete's sake, man, you brought them all down on our heads!" Wick yelled at Rocky.

The underground halls soon erupted into a cacophony of echoing arguments, voices overlapping, and the only words clearly understood by Zib being the loudly hurled insults. Somehow, Zib's curiosity won over his urge to flee the chaos.

"SHUT IT!" There was silence. All eyes turned to the jazz player. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it, his last one being long lost due to his copious gaping. He took a long drag, exhaling sharply. "I think I'm going to regret asking this, but what in the hell is going on?"

The group looked around at each other, everyone's eyes looking for a culprit, but it was Freckle, still lying against the wall unnoticed, who spoke first. "I think it started with me," he began quietly.


	2. Live Wire

When Ivy said she wanted to go someplace other than Lackadaisy for their second attempt at a date, Freckle had expected someplace small and quaint. Instead, before him loomed _Jerry's_, a large warehouse-turned-eatery complete with bright banners indicating its grand opening. From the looks of the patrons streaming in and out of it, it was a very rich place. Freckle felt for the wad of cash in his pocket. He knew it hadn't disappeared but he was reassured to feel it in his hands. He had no idea how Rocky came upon that much money but Freckle didn't question its origins, at the time he too was annoyed at Rocky's parting statement that he shouldn't spend "_too_ much time in the struggle-buggy."

From amongst the crowd, Freckle soon spotted Ivy approaching him. She always seemed to stand out to him given his normal detachment from the people around him. Tonight it was made all the easier because she was wearing a stunning blue dress that somehow made her prettier than she already was. As she got closer Freckle started to feel the swell of nervousness that he always felt around Ivy. He had never encountered someone who he wanted to impress so badly, yet, who also provided him an air of comfort. Her social energy tended to rub off on him. This combination of feelings tended to confuse the heck out of him.

"Hi there!" Ivy beamed at Freckle. "Like the new dress? I saw you staring."

His eyes turned to the pavement as Freckle started rubbing the back of his neck. "It looks nice," he managed to say.

"Thanks! I had to get new shoes along with it because I just didn't have any that matched." Ivy lifted her foot up to show them off. Freckle thought they looked like any other kind of women's shoe he had seen but he simply nodded his head, preferring not to say that out loud.

"So shall we?" Ivy gestured to the entrance of the restaurant. Freckle started walking that direction and then stopped himself when he realized that Ivy was hesitating. He glanced at a couple nearby and stuck his arm out towards Ivy, realizing his mistake.

"You don't take many girls out do you?" Ivy giggled, taking his arm.

"Um." Freckle paused, why did the conversation have to start with this? "No, you're the first."

Ivy stopped and stared at him. "I'm the first? You mean you've never had any other young Jane claim you before?" Freckle shook his head. "Ha, I find that hard to believe! With your face, I figured you would have had your own flock. Well it's their loss, though I'd love to see them take an interest in you now." Ivy continued walking, pulling herself closer against Freckle causing him to stiffen. He tried to keep himself composed as they walked inside the restaurant.

"A table for two?" the door man asked.

"Yes, please. Do you have one by the stage?" Ivy asked innocently. Freckle glanced cautiously at the raised platform at the back of the restaurant where a jazz band played a slow, soft tune. He hoped that it didn't turn lively anytime soon. He wanted to keep his poor dance ability a secret for as long as possible.

"I think one just opened up. Follow me." The doorman maneuvered them through the crowd to a table one away from being front row to the band. Freckle quickly seated himself and started fidgeting his hands. He looked up as Ivy seemed to pause in front of her chair. Freckle jerked up from his seat to the opposite side of the table and pulled the chair out for Ivy.

"Thank you, sir," she laughed quietly, taking the seat. Freckle returned ashamedly to his fidgeting. He should know these things; it was not as if his mother hadn't instilled gentlemanly behaviors in him since he was old enough to lift a utensil.

A young woman walked up to their table. "Hello, I'm Rose. I'll be your waitress for the evening. May I offer you something to drink?"

Freckle felt his normal craving for chocolate milk but given the occasion he decided that he might want to go with something a little fancier. He looked at Ivy for a hint only to find a very annoyed expression plastered across her face. Freckle followed her eyes and looked at the waitress. Upon actually examining her, Freckle realized that between her curly red hair, slender figured, and nice smile, she was sort of pretty. She was staring at him in a way that made Freckle feel uncomfortable.

"I'll have sweet tea, please," Ivy ordered.

The waitress nodded, still not taking her eyes away from Freckle. "And what would you have?" she asked. The waitress carried a tone to her voice that Freckle was unsure about.

"He'll have a tea, too," Ivy huffed.

"Alright, I'll be back very shortly." Rose left with one last gaze at Freckle.

"Ugh, the nerve of some..." Ivy trailed off, staring holes into Rose's retreating figure. "When I said I wanted to see someone try to steal you I was joking. Not that I can't fend them off, mind you."

Freckle sat dumbstruck. How was he supposed to respond to that? Another girl had apparently made… advances… to him. Was he supposed to apologize? Maybe it was his fault. Was it not clear that Ivy and he were dating?

"Honestly, do I have to goggle at you to let others know we're together?" Ivy leaned over the table and gazed deeply at Calvin, batting her eyelashes at him. Though it was only a joke, the look made Freckle feel like oozing into the floorboards.

"You know, your eyes are a great shade of orange?" Ivy added casually. Freckle blushed crimson.

"Here you go!" Rose returned placing two glasses of tea on the table. "Have you decided want you want, yet?" The waitress gave Freckle a smirk.

Freckle hadn't even thought about what he wanted to eat. He quickly picked up the menu before him and scanned down the list.

"Fettuccini Alfredo," Ivy ordered before Freckle could even reach the dinner category. "That's what he's having too," Ivy said curtly.

"Is that what you want?" Rose looked questioningly at Freckle.

"Yes, that _is_ what he wants," Ivy said angrily.

"He's barely even looked at the menu yet," Rose said.

Freckle saw Ivy's eyes turn murderous. "Yes, I'll have that," he answered quickly.

"Good choice, I'll be right back with your order." Rose winked at Freckle as she left.

Freckle thought Ivy was about to have a fit. She clenched her fists and muttered some words under her breath that Freckle had only heard out of Rocky's mouth before. The whole situation tempted Freckle to bolt towards the door but he felt responsible to fix it somehow. However, he was at a complete loss as to how.

"Are you ok?" Freckle looked morosely at Ivy.

"She just- right in front- with a wink- the audacity- what a- Erg! No, I'm not okay!" Ivy scrunched her face and crossed her arms. She stuck her tongue out in the direction that Rose had left. Freckle hung his head. He felt horrible for letting things get out of hand.

"Well, she _is_ pretty," Ivy said with a sneer. "I suppose she thinks she can get away with it."

The center of the table became very interesting as Freckle thought out his words. "You're very pretty, too… Beautiful, actually." Freckle cleared his throat, thinking his head would explode at any second, and continued. "And I'm sorry about that." Freckle waved his hands to where Rose was previously standing. "I'm not interested in her." Freckle looked at Ivy's reaction through the corner of his eyes.

Ivy gave Freckle a warm smile. "What are you apologizing for? You can't help it if you're very cute. And thanks for the compliment. You always sound sincere; it's different than guys I've dated in the past. I mean Chad-"Ivy's story was cut short as Rose placed a steaming plate of pasta before the two of them. Freckle thought it a very fast return.

"Here you go, one of our best. Can I get you anything else?" Rose once again stared at Freckle, seeming to suggest something. Freckle felt that he needed to take initiative, so he shook his head.

"Well, if I might ask, do you have any other plans for the evening?"

Freckle looked at Ivy who seemed to have returned to her previous bad mood. "Yes, we were planning on going to the park after this," Ivy stated.

"Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea. Tonight it's supposed to be quite stormy. Best to stay indoors," Rose recommended in a sincere tone. Freckle's attention was caught by the jazz band, which had started to pickup there slow pace. Soon their music turned into a fast, lively tune. Freckle stared at a large square space absent of tables in the front of the stage. He gulped.

"How about dancing?" Rose suggested. "My shift ends in five minutes, but my manager will probably let me clock out now. Would you be interested?" Rose gave Freckle a predatory grin.

Freckle's mind went blank. Did she just ask him for a dance?

"Oh, he's quite interested in a dance. He owes me one, after all, and since its going to rain, there's no reason not to," Ivy retorted.

"Well perhaps he's interested in dancing with someone who has a lot of practice. I used to teach dance lessons." Rose lifted both eyebrows in Freckle's direction.

"Well that doesn't matter," growled Ivy, "Since he's currently _dating_ someone at the moment."

"Well dating is such an arbitrary term. Besides it's just a dance. So what will it be… uh… I don't think I caught your name."

"Calvin's name is none of your business!" Ivy paused. She cursed and pounded the table with her fist. Rose didn't seem to notice.

"Calvin? That's such a cute name, befitting for such a cute face," Rose leaned over the table towards Freckle. "So what will it be, Calvin, a dance with me or a dance with her?" Freckle looked at Rose's glaring eyes and couldn't help but feel that she wanted to eat him.

Freckle glanced back and forth between Ivy and Rose, both of them waiting for his reply. His ability to speak was lost a long time ago and now all Freckle wished to do was melt into thin air. He had to do _something_. He grabbed his fork, speared a big heap of pasta, and stuffed it in his mouth.

Both of the girls stared quizzically at him. Freckle tried to chew as slowly as he could but it wouldn't last long. Any second now he would have to open his mouth and make a sound of some kind.

"Excuse me? What's the meaning of this?" a voice shouted from the front of the restaurant. "You can't just barge in here and expect- Wait! Are you here for- Help!" the voice screamed.

Freckle strained his neck to see the entrance of the restaurant. The doorman was being confronted by a group of people in trench coats. The doorman reached into his vest and pulled out a small object. He raised his hand and a gunshot went off. A scream chorused from the restaurant crowd and the jazz music dropped sharply.

"Get down!" Rose yelled. She ducked underneath the table with Ivy and Freckle following after her.

The trench coated people quickly spread, knocking over the tables of fleeing patrons and ducking behind them. Running towards this intrusion was an odd assortment of men that appeared to be restaurant workers. They all, however, held guns in their hands. What sort of place was this?

They soon reached the front of the restaurant and formed their own cover, rolling the tables and chairs together to form a barrier. One of the restaurant workers peered over his table and fired a string of bullets into one of the Trench Coat's tables and then all hell broke loose.

"Why does this always happen to me!" Ivy groaned.

Freckle ignored her, his eyes were on one of the Trench Coats that had broken away from the gunfight upfront and slipped to the side. He had hopped from table to table until he was in the back of the room close to them. The assailant tipped toed behind the line of skirmish and raised his gun at the backs of the restaurant's gunmen.

"Wait here!" Rose hissed at them. She reached inside her waiter's vest and pulled out a handgun.

"You have a gun?" Ivy whispered incredulously but Rose was already out from under the table. She ran full speed to the Trench Coat, her gun raised.

"Stop!" she yelled at him. The man lowered his gun and eyed the waitress. "Put it down!"

The Trench Coat made a motion to drop his gun but at the last second he whipped the butt of the gun up into Rose's arm. She fired a shot into the ceiling before the man punched her in the nose knocking her to the ground, her gun skidding across the floor. She tried to make a grab for it as the man lifted his rifle stock above her head.

"No, don't!" Ivy ran out from under the table.

"Wait!" Freckle called much too late. Ivy grabbed the man's BAR just before it hit Rose.

"Gettoff! Damn women!" The man wrenched the gun out of Ivy's hands, pulling her forward. Before she could regain her composure he grabbed her by the neck and threw her. Freckle just managed to dodge out of the way as Ivy flew into the table knocking it over and sending its contents crashing over her.

Freckle stared at Ivy lying against the upturned table in a daze. He felt an uncontrollable rage surge inside him, a force that overtook his body and couldn't be contained. He gazed at the gun lying out of Rose's reach and found himself grabbing at it. The man barely brushed his trigger before Freckle had the pistol ready.

Three gunshots rang out. The man's body fell to the floor.

A cackle built up in Freckle's throat turning into a thundering, broad chuckle. There was a brief pause in the gunfight as the shooters tried to find the source of the noise. Everything became a blur.

_The handgun was exchanged for the BAR. He charged into the fray._

_A man let out a frightened yell as he brought his gun up. He was too slow. A torrent of bullets swept across him._

_His table provided cover. It thudded with bullets from the barricaded group across from it. The BAR ripped a portion of their table to shreds._

_He was out of ammo. The man lying before him had a shotgun. He grabbed it. He roared and vaulted over his table to the barricade._

_The first man was too surprised to shoot his gun before a blast found him in the chest._

_The next man did little but yell before he fell cold._

_The final man behind the table whimpered as he brought his chopper up and fired. The bullets sprayed wildly to the side. He leveled his shotgun, reached to pull the trigger, and it was blown out of his hands._

Freckle stared at his empty hands. He turned his head to the side to see a bespectacled figure raise the butt of his pistol and bring it down on his head. The world faded around him.

* * *

"Remind me not to get on his bad side," said Zib, more than slightly disturbed at Freckle's narration. The rest of the group remained silent as they gave the young boy wary looks. He seemed too distant to notice.

"Well that explains some things," Mitzi said with a sigh.

"It does?" Wick sounded surprised. "I thought he was the root cause of all this." Wick nodded his head at Rocky.

Rocky perked up at this accusation. "Well now, not exactly, I mean, I can't see how I could have outdone the catastrophic mayhem my cousin seemed to have caused."

"No, I'm pretty sure you could top him." Zib lighted another cigarette. "Lets here what happened, Rickaby."

"I would tell but the details seem a bit hazy in my memory. It might be better if I rested-"

"Rocky…" Mitzi narrowed her eyes at the violinist.

He sighed. "Oh alright, but I'll you have you know my actions had the best intentions in mind." Rocky stood up and started making over-the-top arm gestures. "I thought I might try to procure some better varnish…"


	3. Wooden Nickels

"I win again, my friends." Rocky laid out his straight on the table amongst moans and insults. He reached over to the middle of the table and pulled the accumulated cash towards him.

"Hold a sec!" Martin, a jazz player that Rocky deemed a discredit to the art, grabbed Rocky's wrist. He turned it facing him. He searched the coat sleeve thoroughly, a search that ended fruitlessly, leaving the investigator confounded.

"Martin, surely you don't think I've been duplicitous. I play this game honorably. You're lack of faith in me is saddening." Rocky put on a hurt face.

"Yes, I apologize for not having utmost confidence in your respectability." Martin rolled his eyes. "I say another round."

Rick, a rather mysterious figure of their usual table, raised his hand. "I second! Think again if you think that I'm gonna let mister Creepy-Grin over here win all my money." He started shuffling the cards.

An annoyed grunt came from Harry, the kind of store clerk that could easily pass as a hoodlum. "I'm in too, though I'm running low on cash."

"I'm in too! Lady Luck has been affectionate tonight." Rocky grinned widely as Rick narrowed his eyes at Rocky. His eyes kept their trajectory as Rick dealt out the hands. Rocky flipped up his hand. It contained two Jacks, an Ace, a 2, and a 3. It wasn't a bad bounty, but a simple pair had a poor chance of victory. Rocky's free hand went to his hat lying loosely at his lap. He subtly toyed with the cards in the hat's lining. His group had ruled out wild cards awhile ago, for they had a tendency to wind up in Rocky's hands more than anyone else's. As a result, Rocky had to prepare for their games with a rather substantial amount of extra cards. Fortunately another Ace was in his "reserve" along with a 2. He waited to see if the pot was going to amount to much, however, before he greatly increased his winning chance.

Everyone deposited their regular two dollars, and the bidding began.

"I'll raise another two," Martin said. The rest of the table matched.

"I call that," said Rocky. He had no want to scare the table off yet, even though he had enough winnings to force his opponents to put their _clothes_ in the pot to match.

"Call as well." Harry looked substantially uneasy. The poker face was a façade he had yet to learn.

"Raise five," Rick said, his face cold stone. He smacked his bill on the table loudly.

"Fold! Where are you coming up with this money, Rick?" Martin threw his cards face up on the table; it was a simple 8 pair.

"Same here, let these two duke it out." Harry threw his empty hand on the table.

"Raise another five." Rocky eyed Rick innocently.

Rick let out a long sigh. "I'm out of money, I dunno what else I can offer you."

Rocky sat back and crossed his arms. "Make an offer and I'll tell you if I'm interested."

The large man stared at the middle of the table. "Well, Mr. Moonshiner, I know you're looking for better spirits for that establishment of yours. I've managed to get my hands on the location of one of the best runners in the business. He's been doing some selling of the liquor he's been shipping, you know, a little extra on the side." Rick looked up at Rocky. "I can set you up."

Rocky raised his eyebrows at this offer. This was just the sort of break he needed. Surely he would prove his ultimate worth to Mitzi if he procured some top dollar liquor, a feat made all the more impressive given that it would be done through his skills alone.

"I accept." The expert poker player reached for his hand, letting his other hand hang loose by his hat.

Rick rolled his eyes. "You going to raise again?"

"No, I'm fine," Rocky said nonchalantly.

"Good." Rick put his hand face up on the table, revealing a two pair of 8s and 7s. Rocky made a motion of placing his hand on the table as well, but his motion came with an added bit of prestidigitation and his hand came up as a three pair of Aces, 2s and Jacks. He raised his eyes skyward. "Thank you My Lady, I don't know what I've done to deserve such grace."

Rick grunted. He pulled out a pad of paper along with a pen from his jacket, objects Rocky found odd to be in his possession. Rick scribbled something on a sheet of paper, tore it off and handed it to Rocky. "That's his 'distribution' spot. Now leave." Rick collected the cards on the table back into the deck and started shuffling them idly, staring at the table. The rest of the players exchanged glances with each other and rose from the table. This was a clear sign that Rick was in a foul mood and Rick had a certain disposition in such a mood that made for uncomfortable company.

"Well my compadres, I'm glad we could get together to enjoy each other's companionship. Farewell!" Rocky pocketed his winnings, an action that took quite a bit of folding, and headed out the door.

The night was clear- one could almost call it enchanted. What stars could be seen from this deep in the city twinkled brightly and the air carried a hint of the winter chill that would come in a scant few months. Rocky cranked up his car and hopped inside it. He saw no reason not to check out the whereabouts of this entrepreneurial runner right now, after all, on a night such as this, why end it so soon?

Rocky had to drive down numerous back roads to get to the address he had been given. His destination turned out to be a fair sized, run-down warehouse. There was a single streak of light coming from it, visible through a foggy window. Rocky figured a selling operation would be a little more grandiose and obvious, but perhaps it was more secretive than he first supposed. He parked his car next to the only visible side door entrance and proceeded to walk inside.

It quickly became apparent that the warehouse used to store car parts, as the corridors were filled with the rusty metal pieces. Rocky strolled through the place quickly, a man on a mission, quickly locating the origin of the light visible from outside. It was a large, fully lit room, apparently a garage, and in the middle of it was a man with his head stuck in the hood of an engine- an engine attached to a rather large truck.

"Excuse me, sir?" Rocky straightened his hat and suit, trying to look officious.

The man yelled and jerked up, stumbled backwards, and stared at Rocky. He was rather short in stature and he had an enormous brown beard. This was not the appearance of any runner Rocky had ever seen. The man growled at Rocky and proceeded to whip two pistols out of his jacket and line them down at Rocky.

He had _two_ guns? Rocky immediately threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Hey, whoa, hey, calm down, er, please?"

"Calm down!" The man brandished his iron wildly. "What you mean, calm down? You gave me a heart attack, you tried to kill me! Is this what you normally do, huh? Walk up to men doin' there business and try to make them soil themselves? Huh?" He shook his guns menacingly.

Rocky kept his head covered. "Wait! I didn't mean to startle you! I respect the health of others! I think of those poor nurses who have to take care of difficult patients. Especially those ones with gaping bullet wounds…" Rocky hoped this man had a sentimental side.

The man paused and stared blankly at Rocky. "Yeah, the nurses…" The man seemed to loosen a little. "Gotta think about them…" He dropped his guns to his side. "What you here for?"

Rocky slowly eased back into his business posture. This man seemed a little odd, but hey, the varnish business took all sorts. "I'm here to procure some tasteful liquor for my establishment."

"Ah, a customer, eh? Ok let me show ya." The man holstered his weapons and showed Rocky to the back of the truck. He opened it and revealed a treasure trove of alcohol, placed neatly in crates. The man reached over and grabbed a bottle, popped it open, took a big swig, and handed it Rocky. "Ah, yup, _that_ is good stuff."

Rocky examined the bottle. It had some sort of French label that Rocky couldn't understand. It certainly looked fancy, though.

"Aren't you gonna try some?" The man seemed offended.

"Er, uh, not at the moment, I only drink at the proper hour, you know." Rocky brushed his suite appropriately. "So, how much for a substantial haul?"

"Eh, what fifty cases? I don't know, a thousand? Yeah, a thousand! Take it or leave it."

"A thousand?" Rocky sounded aghast. "A thousand for this garbage? I'm only taking it because my establishment is desperate." Rocky stared the man down. It was a simple matter of bluffing. He figured a man of this sort was easily fooled. He probably didn't know the quality of his hooch from rubbing alcohol.

The man went stiff. He met Rocky's eyes with a venomous stare. He grabbed the bottle in Rocky's hands and place back in the truck. "Now… look… here." The man slowly pulled out his pistols again. "I don't want to hear you ever say that my liquor is garbage again. Do you hear me! HEAR ME!" The man's fingers reached for the triggers.

Rocky quickly recoiled at the same time as a gunshot went off.

Rocky fell to the floor.

It was the end.

He knew this time would come soon. He had finally found an occupation that was too dangerous for him. He would never make it big in the world like he had hoped. He had wanted to be the tramp that made a difference in the world, the classical downtrodden figure that rose up to heroic triumph like all the figures of literature. He was to be a Hercules, a Gilgamesh, an Odysseus! One who went through numerous trials to emerge an immortal figure in greatness. Instead his life had gone down the route of Hamlet, the hero whose life began and ended in tragedy. Alas for his dreams, they were futile, doomed since infancy. Woe was this sad life.

"Well, do you plan on staying huddled there all night?"

Rocky peeled his hands away from his face. Standing over him was a man with a particularly disinterested look. Rocky blinked. He checked himself. No fatal injury to be found. He looked over to where he had just been standing. There on the ground was the man with the beard, his pistols lying limply in his hands, a bleeding hole in his middle. Rocky pointed at him. "You shot him!"

The man shrugged. "I should have known he'd be the type to make a quick buck. Just got wind of his little operation yesterday. I figured I'd wait for him to come back up for his regular deposit before I delivered the bad news. He's fired." The man leaned closer over Rocky. "Now, to tie up loose ends, I'm going to have to ask what you're doing here. Fortunately I already know half the answer, and that is that you're a buyer. A buyer of my goods. Very unprofessional of you." The man nodded past Rocky. Two men that Rocky hadn't noticed before appeared and grabbed Rocky and lifted him to his feet. "I could shoot you, but I'm curious as to who you work for. I figured most of Vick's buyers were in places he stopped on his way up here, not actual St. Louis residents. I don't recognize you and figured I had most of Marigold's members tagged. _So_, you must be from some other operation."

Rocky opened his mouth but the man raised his hand up. "Don't bother telling me now, I'm not in the mood." He gave a quick glance at the body. "Take him off, boys."

The men started escorting Rocky out of the building. "Wait, er, can't we come to an understanding before you haul me off? Maybe at least some introductions? You know, who you work for and all that?" He was ignored and Rocky found himself shoved into the back of a car, penned in on either side by men with twice as much muscle mass as him. This was turning into quite the normal night.

* * *

The cave echoed as Nico let out a deep laugh. "This is regular for you, mon chier?"

The violinist bit his lip and looked at the ceiling. "Possibly."

"Its as sure a thing as death." Zib blew a puff of smoke into the air.

"Rocky, why do you always have to be so reckless?" Ivy crossed her arms.

Zib raised an eyebrow at the college student. "Need I remind you, Miss Pepper, about the _rifle_ hanging over your shoulder?"

"I have a very good reason for that. After-"

"Hold on." Zib pulled out another cigarette, emptying half the box, and lit it up. Ivy tapped her foot impatiently.

Zib took an extra long drag and nodded at her.

"As I was saying, after Freckle's outburst…"

* * *

A/N: If you're wondering why Rocky and his "friends" were playing over peanuts its because of the enormous inflation that the US dollar has been through since 1927. If my research is correct, $5 then is the equivalent of about $50 today. So in actuality they're playing quite the high stakes game. I figured since they all have seedy connections they had a little more money to work with than the average joe.


End file.
